A Curtain, Drawn
by ricochette
Summary: Nancy Stevens reflects on differences between John and Grant as she goes about her morning routine in Arlington, Virginia. One shot.


**Author's Note:** This was inspired by Syl's John/Nancy fic most recently posted on . That being said, I recommend reading her fic as it's very well written. Anyways, this is a one-shot and hopefully you'll enjoy it. Perhaps this may evolve into something more a bit later down the road.

Please review and let me know what you think.

**A Curtain, Drawn**

The alarm clock that sat the dark wood nightstand began to ring sharply, making Nancy Stevens all too aware that she had to get ready for a busy day at work. She sighed and stretched her body out over her queen sized bed. The space next to her was cold and empty, indicative of a body that was never there.

The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air in Nancy's room, as she had set the coffee to automatically brew at 5:55 every morning. Her favorite flavor was hazelnut – the smell brought a smile to her lips. She brushed a dark brown tendril of hair off of her face and sat up, causing her cream colored sheets to crumple around her. As she rose from her bed, Nancy grabbed her robe and put her feet into her chenille slippers. Walking into the kitchen, she went through the motions of preparing her daily cup of coffee.

Coffee was something that she and Grant never quite agreed on. Grant, she thought ruefully, was more of a tea drinker. Perhaps that was a sign that things were not to be – he had, after all, walked out on her three months prior.

"Too dedicated to my work," Nancy sighed out loud. She brought her coffee cup to her lips and took a satisfying sip of the hot dark liquid. Grant could never appreciate the intoxicating aroma of hazelnut every morning at 5:55. Picking out the little differences and flaws always made her feel better about being alone. After going through a mental list of things that could not be reconciled – such as loving a man who could not love coffee – Nancy felt that her loneliness could be justified.

_But John liked coffee_, Nancy instantly thought. Everything usually came back to John. Since their meeting after John's dad's wake one month back, Nancy felt haunted by the nonchalant fashion in which he ran his hand through his messy hair. She could see it in her sleep. It reminded her of the way they would lay in bed together all morning on rare Saturdays and talk, watch old movies, and make love. She could still see John's body above hers, as he quickly ran a hand through his dark brown hair.

Nancy heard her mother's words play through her mind as she shook her head. 'You know it's meant to be when you can spend forever doing nothing with him – that's when it's perfect – that's when you need to fight for it'. Maybe she hadn't fought hard enough. Sometimes, it felt like John hadn't even tried.

"Too dedicated to your work…" Nancy said aloud, realizing that Grant had said the same thing about her. After John had left, things weren't the same. Grant wasn't her soul mate, and she was painfully aware of that. There was something about John that made Nancy believe in him one hundred and ten percent. There was nothing about Grant that made Nancy feel the same sense of comfort. Independent Nancy Stevens could change her name to Nancy Sheppard and not feel defeated. With Grant, changing her name would have been akin to losing a part of herself.

She was too similar to John to feel that way.

Nancy put down her coffee cup and went into her master bathroom. She started the shower and let steam fill the room before she slipped out of her robe and nightgown. Taking off her slippers, she let her feet caress the cold stone floor of her bathroom. Her townhouse in Arlington, Virginia had been a personal victory. She purchased it just after Grant had ended things with her. Every room reflected her personality and her taste; she had vowed that she would live for herself after Grant had walked out of her life. She had vowed that things would be different – there would be no more rebounding. She would take things as they came and she would go about things at her own pace.

Stepping into the hot shower, Nancy let the water trickle over her naked body. The water enveloped her and caressed her, causing her eyes to widen and her lips to curl up with pleasure. After shampooing and conditioning her long brown hair, she began to rub her favorite vanilla body wash over her tanned skin. The aroma had a soothing affect; the scent would linger on her body throughout her day, only fading as she rested her head on her pillow in the late hours of the evening. The vanilla had been John's favorite scent: he would often murmur to her in the middle of the night – after the two had been lost in between bed sheets and tangled limbs – that burying his head in her neck, holding her close, and taking in her vanilla aura was one of the things that made him feel most alive.

The hot water of the shower trickled over Nancy's body and took away any remnants of vanilla scented soap. After she had been satisfied that her morning ritual was complete, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a plush towel from the rack that hung purposely on the wall. Nancy pulled her bathrobe over the towel and went into her bedroom; she began to quickly tidy up her bed and her pillows, arranging everything the way she liked it. The different pillows were accented by a cashmere throw that she had draped over the foot of her bed – a throw that John, in particular, had bought her one Christmas.

She never got rid of his things. The engagement ring that he had given her years ago – when she was much younger – sat in its box, hidden away with her jewelry collection. She never looked at it, but she always knew it was there. Other jewelry given by him was placed with the small velvet box. The trinkets were treasures that she never wore – nobody, not even Grant, knew that she had kept them.

After she was confident that enough of the steam had left the confines of her master bathroom, Nancy quickly began to blow her hair dry. Her long brown strands were always meticulously styled – such was the acceptable work fashion in Washington. Everything had to be perfect and tame; nothing was to be out of place. If the Department of Homeland Security was operating at a high threat level, a level of decorum still had to be maintained. Sometimes, Nancy felt that this was incredibly foolish – after all, time spent on rules and regulations could have very well been spent on going after 'bad guys' and keeping the country safe. Such little things always made her laugh.

She quickly combed through her hair and began applying a conservative amount of makeup. After she was satisfied that she didn't look tired, she walked over to her closet and took out of a skirt suit that she had reserved for this morning. She quickly pulled on her lingerie, before slipping into the pieces of her business attire. Nancy never wore 'boring' lingerie to work – after all, the skirt suits and the dress slacks had been tame enough. Bright colors were never acceptable in Washington – everything had to be neutral or tame, so as to fit in and conform. Nancy's lingerie, however, was bright red – a secret statement of rebellion. The neutral dark grey attire hid her raunchy secret. Nude colored stockings and black pumps were next on her agenda. As she completed her outfit, she put on a coat of lipstick and smiled at her reflection.

Satisfied that she was well prepared for her day, she ran into the kitchen and grabbed her purse. She took out a pad and wrote a quick note for the cleaning lady – "Rosa, the dishwasher is acting up, I'm sorry" – and left $120 next to the note. Rosa came in once a week and took care of the cleaning that Nancy didn't have time for. The extra long shifts at the Pentagon were intense; the thought of coming home to a second work shift of cleaning only made her head spin.

Grant never saw the need for a cleaning lady – he didn't think it was _that_ big of a deal. The $120, to him, seemed like wasted money – money that could be spent on bigger and better things. 'It's good riddance, Ms. Nancy – I didn't like him anyways,' Nancy remembered Rosa telling her after Grant had left.

Every day, in the midst of her morning routine, Nancy thought. She thought about her life and what she needed to do; she thought about her unfinished business and her business that she had not yet started. She thought of the past, present, and future. Some things flew in and out of her mind, never to be thought of again. Other things were constant.

And every morning since she and Grant had ended things, there was one constant: Nancy thought about the differences between Grant and John. Each morning, as Nancy walked out of her door and went down her stone steps onto the sidewalk, she arrived at the conclusion that John was different from Grant, if only for one thing:

John wasn't the one who walked out.


End file.
